


Skin

by Eratoschild



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Freckles, Implied Rough Sex, Insecurity, M/M, Marks on Skin, Minor wounds, Scars, Tattoos, bar code, bites, scratches, stretch marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eratoschild/pseuds/Eratoschild
Summary: He’s awake, dawn is breaking and somehow he’s pressed beween two bodies. Gladio’s face only inches from his and there’s an arm curled tightly around him from behind- wait, didn’t he fall asleep on the other side of Ignis? It doesn’t matter, he’ll be waking up soon anyway so Prompto decides to just enjoy the quiet moment between himself and his unwitting lovers.





	Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Facebook Chocobro Love group prompt "marks on skin".

He’s awake, dawn is breaking and somehow he’s pressed beween two bodies. Gladio’s face only inches from his and there’s an arm curled tightly around him from behind- wait, didn’t he fall asleep on the other side of Ignis? It doesn’t matter, he’ll be waking up soon anyway so Prompto decides to just enjoy the quiet moment between himself and his unwitting lovers.

As he does, his eyes move over Gladio- what of the man is in his range of vision at least. Face so close, Prompto feels drawn to the scar across his eye. He can’t help but admire what it stands for even as his gaze starts to travel- downward in the direction the scar is pointing, the once-violent gash now a deep red reminder long since healed over in a texture that doesn’t quite match the rest of his skin- downward over his jaw, skirting over a nick from shaving (that perfectly maintained facial hair didn’t keep itself) -downward to the upper edges of inked feathers and beak, so finely detailed Prompto can’t even imagine the time and pain it took to complete the work.

Then, as if reading Prompto’s thoughts through his sleep, Gladio shifts to lay on his back, one arm coming up over his head and he an see so much more. He suddenly feels inexplicably bashful. It’s not like he’s never looked so openly before- and Gladio has always been happy to be on display. And then he notices another mark, a new one, on his ribs just under the edge of tattoo. His lips twitch, a lopsided grin, as he records it in his memory, thinking of the night before. Was that his doing or was it Ignis? He’s not sure now.

Closing his eyes now, he figures he may as well try to go back to sleep while everyone else is. He shifts just a little, trying not to disturb Ignis, but the arm around him tightens and lips land, soft, on the back of his neck. A shiver runs through him and there is a small hum of amusement- felt more than heard- behind him at the subtle shudder.

It takes a bit of effort but he manages to turn in the embrace, and he’s looking into half-open eyes: green, underscored by faint purple smudges. Ignis never seems to sleep quite enough.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey yourself,” is the low, accented reply.

And now he’s studying Ignis as much as he had Gladio. cataloging, memorizing every detail. From any distance, Ignis appears flawless but this close, he is as much a map of marks as the rest of them. Something about this strikes Promto as being so quintessentially Ignis, that there was so much that one could only see by getting so intimately close to him. A few freckles- much paler than Prompto’s own, tiny scars- evidence of a time when his skin wasn’t so flawless as it now appears.

“Looking for something?” comes the amused question. Prompto feels the blush rise in his face and shakes his head. He wraps his arm around Ignis and runs his fingers down his back. He knows without looking that it is scored with long red lines- his own doing from last night. He knows when he’s found them- not only because he can feel the slight raise against the skin surface but also because there’s a twitch of muscle under his fingers. “Sorry about that,” he whispers.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Stings a little but I daresay it was well worth it.”

And their lips are meeting but briefly and Prompto quips “Oh good, I’d hate to think my efforts went to waste.”

“Never, darling,” Ignis assures him, now running his palm up Prompto’s side, along his ribs, touching the faint silvery rivulets that adorn his torso. Prompto is slowly learning not to mind them so much anymore.

Reaching his shoulder, Ignis traces a path down his arm, over countless freckles and scars- some old, some new, and a minor wound still healing from a battle only days ago. Fingers glide down to his wrist and trace along the cuff that sits there. Prompto tenses, almost pulls his arm away. Almost. But the feared intrusion under the cuff never comes. He knows that Ignis would never commit such a violation. Neither of them would. As long as that boundary is unbreached, he’s safe.

And then for a split second he wants to tear it off himself, to beg them to look, to see that tiny swathe of skin that never sees the light of day- it’s just skin, just a mark. It means nothing, right? But even when he’s alone, even when he showers, it doesn’t come off. If he takes it off now, they could see that his wrist is graced by a band much whiter than the rest of him. And if he turns up his palm, they would see, in stark contrast, why the cuff is always there. It hardly seems fair, they’ve kept nothing back, but he can never let them see this tiny piece of him. It should be trivial, he should be able to bare it just as he has every other square inch of him

After all, it’s just skin, right?


End file.
